


Behind the Scenes

by midnightsnapdragon



Series: Nostalgia [8]
Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Classic Hollywood Theme, F/M, I'm making fun of that Cheesy Death Scene you see everywhere, The Lunar Chronicles Ship Weeks, Winter thinks it's hilarious, tlc ship weeks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsnapdragon/pseuds/midnightsnapdragon
Summary: For the 2015-2016 TLC Ship Weeks, themed "Classic Hollywood".





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2015-2016 TLC Ship Weeks, themed "Classic Hollywood".

It was a scene of death.

The guard lay lifeless on the ground, his stomach mangled where the knife had gone through. Blood pooled and ran from the wound, soaking the dress of the beautiful young woman who knelt beside him. Her shoulders quaked with grief as she sobbed uncontrollably into her hands. 

For this man had been her guard – her friend, her ally, her constant companion, and he had been mortally wounded while protecting her.

She hadn’t known until this moment that she was in love with him.

The dying man groaned quietly and she gasped, bending over him, cupping his face in her hands.

“Princess?” he murmured, opening his eyes.

“Sir Clay,” she cried. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto his uniform. “Please, just stay with me – I’ll call for a medic – you can’t die, not now, not like this!"

His voice came quietly now, more insistent. “Princess.”

She bit her lip. “Yes?”

“Do something for me.” He lifted a hand weakly, but hesitated to touch her. Ever proper, ever keeping a respectful distance.

“Anything!”

His pale fingers – too pale, cold as death – brushed her black, spiraling hair.

_“Stay safe.”_

The hand fell, and he was gone.

The princess wailed and touched her head to his chest. She was shaking again, but not with heartbreak … her sobs grew and grew until, unbelievably … she started to laugh.

The harsh crack of the clapper board split the silence. “Cut!” yelled the director.

“I’m sorry!” Winter gasped, chortling, and clutched at her abdomen. “It’s just – so ironic – and funny – oh, my poor stomach –“

Groans and chuckles traveled through the ranks of actors and cameramen as the atmosphere in the room relaxed. When Jacin sat up, scowling and rubbing fake blood off his face, Winter collapsed into helpless giggles again. 

From somewhere above them in the rafters, where the control booth was, someone gave an exasperated yell – “I’m so _done”_ – and a paper copy of the script came hurtling out, fluttering madly, through the air. The document was thick enough that the staples gave out mid-fall, and by the time it had settled on the floor around them, all 824 pages had come apart.

“Don’t even start, Cinder!” The producer, an attractive young woman with blue hair and an can-do attitude, planted her hands on her hips and craned her neck upwards, to where their resident technician was hidden away. “It’s tragic and heartrending, and they’re going to eat it up!”

Winter dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away tears of mirth.

“You do realize,” Jacin said dryly, drawing her attention back to him, “that we’ve done twenty-one takes of that scene and haven’t gotten through it _once_ without you messing it up?”

She beamed, unabashed, kind of surprised that he hadn’t vanished from their spot on the floor. Jacin didn’t usually stick around. “I know.”

“Get your act together. Literally.”

“Ah, Jacin.” Casually throwing an arm around him, Winter flourished a hand in the universal gesture for _there’s nothing to be done about it._ “How can you resist your own emotions like that? I really don’t know how you do it. That scene is hysterical.”

Jacin scoffed and shrugged her away. “Watching your lover sacrifice himself for you and die is hysterical?”

“No, you silly goose,” she said, poking his chest. “It’s the very idea that we are lovers.”

He merely raised his eyebrows at her, all sass and cynicism. It was practically a dare.

“You might as well be a statue, Jacin, judging by the sheer amount of emotion you show on a daily basis. That’s why you pretending to be in love is the funniest thing imaginable.” Winter tipped her head at him, a playful smile curling her mouth. “You’re very convincing, too. Have you ever actually fallen in love?”

Jacin drew back, narrowing his eyes, like she’d asked him to dress up as the sugar-plum fairy. “Excuse me?”

“You know. You meet someone, sparks fly” – she flicked her fingers – “and when you’re together, you’re full of warm fire … like a million lucky stars have aligned.” She sighed wistfully. “And kissing, of course. Do statues kiss?”

Jacin rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “That’s my cue. I’d better warn Iko that the swoony psychodrama she’s written is messing with people’s minds.”

Winter watched him walk away, the fake-bloodstained dress sticking to her skin, and wondered if that was a smile tugging at his eyes. If the good-natured banter was a figment of her imagination.

When they had first begun practicing their act, Jacin had barely responded to her friendly advances; any invitation to coffee or lunch would be given a short, clipped _no, thank you._ Almost a month after filming had started, she thought he might be warming up to her, but they weren’t quite friends yet.

It was getting ridiculous. Every day, they looked deep into each other’s eyes, held intimate conversations, and feigned attraction for the cameras, and he couldn’t be bothered to make nice? 

Well, that was Jacin for you. And the attraction wasn’t totally an act on Winter’s part.

Maybe that was why their pretend romance was so funny.

“Take twenty-two!” shouted the director, Dr. Erland, a husk of a man who had perfected the whole looks-can-kill philosophy. 

Cameramen took their positions. The cast and crew dispersed to various parts of the room. Somewhere in the void above them, Cinder dimmed the lights.

Winter stood, and brushed herself off, and smirked to herself.

Swoony psychodrama, indeed. She was having too much fun for Jacin to scare her off now.

\---

_Please review._


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